


in the belly of the beast

by faerie_ground



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-X-Men: Days of Future Past, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29880453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerie_ground/pseuds/faerie_ground
Summary: Is Charles okay? Charles hasn’t been okay in years. Charles doesn’t know what okay feels like.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Logan (X-Men)/Charles Xavier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	in the belly of the beast

**Author's Note:**

> tw for references to depression, mental health issues. vague predatory behaviour at the ending

“Are you okay, Professor?” Hank asks quietly.

Charles blinks. He supposes it’s a valid question. He’s been in a bit of a funk the past few days- scratch that actually, the past few years. He’s just lost so much- his father, and then his mother’s love, and then Raven and Erik and Sean and countless others. Building a school, gaining students he loved to teach and nurture hadn’t helped him in the slightest, and he’s as lost as he ever was, wandering the halls of a drafty mansion alone, feeling like he’s been stranded at sea even whilst surrounded by people. 

In the mornings, Charles wakes up, the crushing weight of his loneliness and his depression swallowing him whole like the eye of the storm. In the afternoons, he goes through the motions, teaching without his soul set into it, ignoring concerned questions as he tries his best to prevent the lump in his throat from tearing him asunder. In the evenings, he settles into bed and looks at the framed picture of Erik and Raven by his bedside. It’s one of all three of them with their arms around each other, and he has to shift his gaze to the ceiling, his eyes sore with tears that refuse to come.

Is Charles okay? Charles hasn’t been okay in years. Charles doesn’t know what okay feels like.

He wheels his chair closer to the railing. Poor Hank, who’s been with him for so long, has carried the weight of his grief like Atlas for all those years when Charles had buried himself in alcohol and drugs. Hank doesn’t deserve this, looking after a broken man who can do nothing but teach, pass on what little there is left of him to his students. Hank deserves better. “I don’t know,” Charles says after a while, peering out over the top of the railing. Below, Alex is playing ball with a couple of kids, laughing when one of them teleports beside him to grab the ball away.

“It’s okay,” Hank says softly, in that mild, gentle tone he always has for everyone around him. He stands beside Charles, his hand gripping Charles’ shoulder, tight and confident. Despite Charles’ own failures, Hank has grown- into the perfect young man Charles could never hope to be. “You just have to fall.”

Charles blinks up at him. “I just have to- what?”

Hank peers down at him, frowning, concerned. “Did I say something?”

“Yes,” Charles says, confused. “You said, you said I just have to fall.”

“You must be hearing things,” Hank replies, looking even more worried now as he steps back, turning Charles’ wheelchair to face him instead. “Have you been sleeping? Eating well? Really, Charles, maybe you should listen-”

“-to _me!”_ Raven is snapping, her arms folded from across Charles as fury steals over her face. Charles rubs at the bridge of his nose, the exhaustion weighing down every single one of his bones. He does not have the energy to argue with Raven, but of course she won’t listen. They’ve been going on at this ever since Raven brought up the story of yet another illegal mutant trafficking ring she’d busted wide open.“What you’re doing, Charles, teaching at this school- it’s good, but it’s not enough. Take it from someone who’s been out there, who’s seen what this world does to us!”

_What happened to us?_ Charles thinks wearily. Is he this much of a disappointment to Raven? Navigating his relationship with Raven is like navigating a minefield- every few seconds or so, a mine goes off. And he doesn’t mean it, god knows he doesn’t, because he truly loves his sister. Despite the misgivings, the mistakes and the regrets with her, despite the heartache and the grief when she leaves his mansion and refuses to stay every single time, he still loves her. He just wishes- he just wishes she considered him enough of a family, too. 

“This school is a sanctuary,” Charles says tiredly, tidying up his desk instead. “It’s a place of respite, of education. It’s not a breeding ground for violence.”

There’s a few seconds of silence. The heavy mass of Raven’s disappointment, of Raven’s upset and Raven’s irritation hangs over them both, fraught with meaning and an omen. This is them now, no matter how much Charles would like to pretend otherwise- constantly arguing, never at peace. 

All those years ago, Charles had been wrong. Erik hadn’t taken Raven away. Charles had lost Raven, through his own damnable flaws. 

“You don’t even try to hear me out,” Raven says softly, reaching over to grasp his hand and stilling his movements. “Oh, Charles. Trust me, a war is coming, and we all have to be prepared for it.”

“You sound just like Erik,” Charles murmurs, and there’s that knife stab of agony coursing through his heart again, sharp and swift and violent. He misses Erik, so much that it weighs him down sometimes, makes him forget to eat or drink or sleep in favour of sifting through his own memories of them together, scarce but happy. It’s always been Erik for him, Erik and the baggage and pain and trauma he brings around with him like a prized trophy, a dead weight to hold up and lord over everyone else. He’s so unfortunately addicted to the pain of knowing Erik, the pain of losing him and hating him and then loving him again. It’s an addiction that is slowly killing him, bit by bit. His organs are starting to shut down, and soon enough he’ll break into fragile little pieces, floating away in the wind, lost to everyone forever. “Just like him.”

“Because he’s right,” Raven says sharply, her grip tightening. “Please, Charles. You just have to hear me out and do something. You just have to fucking fall.”

Charles’ head snaps up, and he looks at her, confused. “I just have to- what?”

Raven sends him a disgusted look, and then stands up, knocking her chair over. “I knew you weren’t listening to me,” she says, furious now. “God, have you ever listened to me? Have you ever treated me like an equal? Have you ever-”

“-hurt someone before?” Jean asks, her lip trembling. Her arms are curled over her knees, her entire frame shaking. There are tear tracks shining on her face, gleaming in the dark. Charles’ heart aches for her, for the self loathing in her eyes and the ever present tension in her limbs. Five years in the school, and she’s just as terrified as the day she’d first arrived. 

It’s a realisation that’s been tough to swallow- Charles can’t help his students. He’s nowhere near good enough to handle them,bear the weight of their anguish and despair, and the knowledge tears at him like a serrated knife. He’s starting to truly acknowledge it now, acknowledge how he’s stepped on a pedestal that has since proven to be far too tall for him. _Oh, Logan,_ he thinks, morose. _You were wrong. My best wasn’t enough._

Jean is still looking at him. “Professor?”

“Of course I have,” Charles says softly, pitching his voice to be as low and soothing as possible. “But that’s life. You hurt people, you feel that regret and remorse of causing them that hurt, that pain, and then you grow from it. It doesn’t mean you stop hurting people, but it means you’re a tad bit better at avoiding those mistakes.” He’s an exception to that rule, of course, because even after making mistakes he still finds himself tripping over them, stumbling through life half blind with his limbs cut off, but he doesn’t tell her that.

Jean’s bottom lip trembles as she combs her fingers through her hair, attempting to iron out the knots and tangles. It had all been a cause of a terrific nightmare of fire and ash and the world ending, that had caused Charles to immediately wake up, slide into the chair and enter her room. Her dream had terrified him too, unseated him to a degree he hasn’t felt before. 

Then again, there is very little that doesn’t set him off these days. Charles looks in the mirror, and all he sees is a bag of sticks and bones, hollow eyes carved out on a white canvas, deep shadows black as gravel inked beneath his eyes. There’s something wrong with him, he knows that. But isn’t there with everyone?

“I wish I wasn’t a mutant,” Jean mutters, and then bursts into tears again. 

“Oh, darling,” Charles sighs, and then locking the brakes of the chair, slides out of it to sit on the bed with his back against the headboard. Jean automatically cuddles against him, clinging onto his arm with fresh tears soaking into the sleeves of his pyjama shirt. He puts his arm around her, smiling a little. Charles has always had a bit of a soft spot, when it comes to Jean- as has been pointed out to him numerous times by the other teachers in the school. “Don’t say that, alright? You’re incredible just like how you are, you hear me? Everyone in this school, your teachers, your friends, me- we won’t ever turn our backs on you, no matter what happens. We’ll be here for you.”

Jean looks up at him with swollen, teary eyes and blotchy red cheeks. “You promise?” she whispers. “Even if you fall?”

“Even if I- what?” Charles blinks, confused. “Jean, I promise you, I’ll be here forever, Here, a pinky promise.” He lifts his pinky finger and waits patiently until Jean finally links her own pinky finger with his, wiping at her face with the back of her wrist and laughing shakily. 

“Thank you, Professor,” Jean says, shy. “I will hold you to that-”

“-promise, come on, you promised me, _Professor,”_ Logan says with a grin. He’d turned up in the morning and refused to take no for an answer, forcibly pushing Charles’ chair for him. Charles sighs, even as he’s laughing, letting Logan bundle him into the truck. “One day off, Chuck.”

“I have classes,” Charles protests again, even as Logan starts the truck, tearing off down the gravel and the road leading away from the mansion. Logan’s grinning in a way he rarely has ever since he came back from Stryker’s lab, all his memories of helping Charles and Hank in Washington somehow intact. He looks- good, infuriatingly so, Charles thinks with a blush. “Who’s going to cover them?”

“Bribed Alex,” Logan parries back, still grinning as he reaches for Charles’ hand. Charles lets him, squeezing his hand back and stroking his index finger down the back of Logan’s hand. They’re not in love, and probably would never be, Erik’s shadow hanging like a sceptre over them both. Sometimes, Charles hates himself for it, hates the way Logan gazes at him with that forlorn tilt to his smile, hates the way he lets Logan close with the memory of how Erik had felt beneath his hands. You can’t force a heart to just change itself, after all- but god, how Charles wants it to. 

“Lovely,” Charles complains, although he can’t help but smile as well. It is a nice day out- the sun’s not too strong, and Logan’s turned the radio on, some sixties love ballad filling up the expanse of the truck. 

“You’re in my shirt,” Logan suddenly points out, and Charles starts, looking down and then blinking. He hadn’t left the mansion in this, in Logan’s plaid shirt with blue and white stripes that have faded with time, a suspicious red stain at the hem of it. He clearly remembers leaving in something else. How did he get into this? Why can’t he remember? “It looks better on you.”

“Is this blood?” Charles says suspiciously, lifting his arm out of Logan’s grasp and staring at another stain on his sleeve. “Oh, really, Logan. Don’t you ever wash your clothes?”

Logan snorts, withdrawing his hand to play with his own dog tags, the sound of it tinkling filling the truck. Charles remembers the weight of them in his own palm, too- light, barely there, cool to the touch. He remembers wearing them once, pressing the tags to his bottom lip just in time to see Logan’s eyes darken. 

“Fucking hell, Professor,” Logan says, his voice slightly mocking. He swerves to the right suddenly, and continues on. “You’re strung up tight, aren’t ya? You just need to relax. You need to fall.”

Charles leans his head against the window. “That sounds nice,” he breathes, his breath misting up the window and turning it foggy. “Falling.”

“I have no idea what the hell you’re going on about,” Logan scoffs, “but you need to take a breather, Chuck. Fresh air’s gonna do you good. All that work and no play, it will make anyone-”

“-fall in love with you,” Erik murmurs, kissing down his neck. His lips are warm, his breath hot like a volcano and sending each of Charles’ nerves alight. “Every day, I’m falling more and more in love with you.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you to be such a romantic,” Charles teases, his own cheeks hot from embarrassment and love and something else. 

“Perhaps you bring it out in me,” Erik suggests, propping himself up over Charles on his elbows and smiling in that soft way of his that lights up his face. It turns his entire countenance from something severe to something charming, and Charles once again sees the man he’d fallen for the second he’d found him in the ocean. 

A lock of brown hair falls over Erik’s eyes from where it’d been tucked behind his ear, and Charles pushes it back, feeling his eyes prickle. “Why did you leave me, Erik?” he whispers, settling his palm against the side of Erik’s cheek, feeling the stubble scratch at the soft skin of it. Erik’s smile melts away and is replaced with a frown, the emotion in his eyes darkening. “I would have given you anything.”

“You _have_ given me everything,” Erik says softly. He ducks down, placing a kiss on Charles’ nose before straightening up again. He’s gorgeous, pale green eyes gleaming in the dark and a line of stubble coating his strong jaw, sturdy shoulders blanketing Charles from everything else, and he’s so, _so_ gorgeous. Charles feels his own heart ache. 

Of course Charles shouldn’t have expected to keep Erik. Charles is a weakling, a flailing bird struggling to survive and Erik- Erik is a stallion. Erik is fierce, Erik is everlasting, Erik has greatness writ into every line of his being and Charles is forever cast in his shadow, bound to his chair, waiting for Erik to turn behind and notice him. But Erik never will, he knows that now. And Charles- how can Charles expect that of him? 

“You just need to give me this one thing,” Erik whispers. He smells of pinewood and sweat. It makes Charles want to surge up, kiss his lips and down his throat to his collarbone. “One thing, and I’ll never leave you again.”

“Anything,” Charles says, pleads. The desperation in his voice rings true. 

“Fall,” Erik breathes, lifting one hand to stroke it down the side of Charles’ cheek, over the tear tracks that have scored themselves into his skin like scars. “Fall with me, my love.”

“Falling,” Charles sobs, as he entwines his hand around Erik’s neck, brings him down for a kiss that’s warm and salty and wet and perfect. Erik kisses him back and Charles has never tasted anything better, never felt anything better. His heart is soaring- is it possible to feel this happy? This at peace? Charles has never felt like this before. “Sounds perfect to me.”

“Then do it,” Erik whispers into his lips. “Do it. We’ll fall together, just you and me. No one else.”

Charles closes his eyes, and falls.

In a corner of the darkened bedroom of Professor Charles Xavier, headmaster of the Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Children, Apocalypse straightens up from the wall he’d been leaning against and smiles. 

Charles sits up in his bed, and opens his eyes. They are black as coal. He pushes off from the bed and stands on his feet, for the first time in years. 

“My child,” Apocalypse says, and places a finger under his chin, lifting his head up. “Welcome home.”

Hundreds of miles away, Erik jolts awake with a shout, the last vestiges of Charles’ scream echoing in his mind like a reverberating drum. He can still hear it, even now, as he stares across the room at the four walls that surround him.

“Charles,” he breathes, stretching his hand out. 

There is no answer. 

**Author's Note:**

> this story was really never meant to be written, i just saw a random tweet about how it would have been much better if charles had been one of the horsemen instead of erik and the idea got stuck in my head. this was written in like 1 hour rip and it prob shows so uh. go easy on me lmao. this is likely not getting continued because i have no energy to start up another multichaptered fic so if anyone wants to pick this up from where it leaves off, feel free to do so 
> 
> for clarification: almost all the events that occur do happen, charles is just being manipulated by apoc so he thinks they say the line when they don't. the only event that doesn't happen is him and erik- that happens in his head. 
> 
> as always leave a comment + kudos if u liked it! im over on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/himbomcavoy) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/ROBBIETURNCR) come say hi


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